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transfemlogan · 2 years ago

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And When The Moon is High

Chapter 1

Ao3 | chapter two

(Chapter) warning/s: hurt/comfort, pre-transformation mimicks sickness, talk about hurting others on accident

Words: 5,573

Fic summary: A bed squeaks along with cracking bones. A loud crash, followed by a thud and a bang. Fabric rips, metal clangs, and glass shatters.

The wind screams with a howl.

After 5 months of dating, Logan wants to share his full moon with Virgil. Virgil promises to do everything in his power to help him.

Then Logan makes a mistake. He didn't mean to.

He swears he didn't mean to.

AWMH masterlist | FANFICTION MASTERLIST

Gravel crunches together underneath thick black boots. A careful breeze pushes down on Virgil’s hood, slipping it off his head. He squints his eyes as the sun, peering through the leaves, hits his face.

Surrounded by tall trees, Virgil follows the very faint path towards his home. Plants have started to overgrow, covering some of the gravel, but as he steps, they all scuttle away from him like puppets on a string, and then return to their original spot. He fixes the bag hung over his shoulder.

The path disappears halfway along the trail, but Virgil’s footsteps never cease. He’s walked this path a million times before and will continue to walk it a million times after. He glances over his shoulder, scanning the area behind him.

Flies buzz past him. And before trotting away, a deer, off in the distance, pauses to stare at him. The sun sits high in the sky.

— —

A door clicks shut.

Virgil sighs, standing in the small entranceway of his home. He drops his bag with a thud and then immediately cringes, face scrunching up.

He needs to make a ward, or some sort of protection, for his guest room and then start dinner and then start the potion and his boyfriend is showing up somewhere in the midst of that– he chews on his thumbnail.

He rummages around his house, unzipping his boots and taking off his large cloak, pulling out everything for dinner and from his drawstring bag (which has accumulated a white pile at the bottom, from the now open bag of salt), before taking the rest of what he needs from his small garden in the back, barricaded with a large fence and a scarecrow in the middle.

He knows Logan is feeling nervous and feeling vulnerable sharing this with him, and he feels nervous, too (What if his ward ends up not working and something Happens? What if his potion doesn’t work and Logan’s transformation is torturous and what if Logan never wants to share this with him ever again and–)

Virgil lets out a few heavy breaths, shoving his hands into his face.

The clock reads noon.

(Logan grips Virgil's hands in his. They're uncharacteristically sweaty and shaky. Virgil stares at him as if he holds the answer to life itself— or as if he is the answer to life itself— and, god, it scares him as much as it makes his heart flutter.

"We've talked a lot about my transformation," Logan starts. Virgil interrupts him.

"You don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with or— or unready for." Virgil almost sounds as nervous as Logan feels.

Logan smiles. "I know..." he presses a kiss to Virgil's hand. "I am... very hesitant to share my werewolf heritage with most people. Not everyone is as accepting as you are... but you are not most people, as you have shown to me, and you've spoken so much about wanting to... help me and—"

"— I want to help you as much as I can, L." Virgil opens his mouth to keep speaking, but realises he spoke over Logan and trails off. Logan keeps smiling.

"I would... like to share the upcoming full moon with you.")

He changes out of his day clothes and wipes his hands on his sweatpants, throwing the jeans he was just wearing into a random pile on his bed.

Despite the boiling and heavy feeling in his stomach (he swears he had to have eaten a brick and forgotten about it), Virgil feels… fluttery. They’ve only been dating for 5 months and Logan has always chosen to spend his transformation alone— not that Virgil has ever been upset or offended— but then Logan asked if he could come over for this full moon. Because, despite all his fears, he trusts Virgil and wants to share this time with him.

(Virgil's eyebrows raise and his jaw drops. "Are— are you sure?" Logan looks away, biting his lip.

"Yes, I am very certain," Logan says, "if you'll let me."

Virgil gawks. "Yes, I absolutely would." He thinks he's smiling wider than Logan. "Of course I would, love."

Logan presses a kiss to his cheek, grinning. "I trust you.")

Virgil wants to jump around his house and cheer and roll around on the floor, and grip Logan’s face in his hands and suffocate him with a million kisses, and maybe cry really really loud, but he doesn’t think that’s too appropriate.

Instead, he’ll start on the guest room’s ward.

— —

Various herbs hang from the ceiling and in small glass containers in racks aside hand-drawn diagrams pinned on the walls.

Virgil walks through the arched opening– he renovated this room himself, taking down the walls due to how stuffy and hot it got quickly because of his cauldron. He hums lowly to himself, tying up his long mullet-like hair into a ponytail, and walking towards his desk on the right side. Behind him, books start flying off the shelves. They spin rapidly through the air, almost having a purple outline, and float towards the witch.

He runs his finger along the spines of notebooks sitting on a shelf above his desk. The numbers on them count up and up, until he stops on the last one, and plucks it off. Glancing at the book midair by his side, he flicks his wrist; the rest of the books shoot back towards their respective spots. He flips through the pages, lethargically, blowing air past his lips. The page he stops on has a long list of healing correspondences and practices.

Virgil continues to hunt through his room. He waves his hands around like a conductor, looking through his herbs and writing in his grimoire.

He doesn’t specialise in healing Magick. Most of the resources in his craft room involve things like cemetery dirt, ashes, and animal bones (Virgil briefly wonders if Logan would enjoy a bone in wolf form, assuming wolves are anything like dogs, but he shakes his head at the thought), none of which are good for healing spells.

Werewolves are also a mystery to him. His bookshelves are filled with books on vampires, sirens, zombies, and dragons, but none of them mention werewolves in any capacity; and he doubts the library in the town closest to him has books on them, unless they want their library to be set on fire by hunters.

(Though, there is that half-reptilian librarian– he doesn’t trust that man in the slightest, but if anyone would have books hiding…)

Virgil sighs, tapping his quill against his lips. He doesn’t know where Logan’s pain gets him the most. If it was muscle pain, he could attempt some sort of ointment to apply, but if it was bone pain, he doesn’t think an ointment would work. This book talks about injections, but… neither of them would enjoy that very much.

“Lilac… Lovage… Honeysuckle…” He skims the page, “juniper berries?” He hums, holding his hand out. A jar floats to the open hand with a label.

“Despite their deceiving title, Juniper berries are not actually berries, but a cone with scales called galbulus.”

He skips a few lines, eyes focusing on the next paragraph.

“... are correlated with protection and cleansing. They are often used in healing rites…”

Virgil shakes the jar of berries. There’s only a few left, but he can make use of them.

The book also talks about apples, which have many different properties, but can be used in healing, along with lavender and chamomile, which don’t have any healing properties, but protection instead.

Virgil knows he has a few bags of chamomile and lavender tea in his cupboard (mainly because it’s Logan’s favourite), and a potion might be the best way to go about helping his were-partner.

He titles a fresh page in his grimoire: pain potion. His quill scribbles furiously, while around the corner, a tea bag, apple, and honey float into the room.

Virgil can already hear his mentor’s voice in his head scolding him for using his magick so carelessly.

He moves towards the front of the room, which rounds out, towards his cauldron; the round walls have large stained glass windows, shining rainbow light and patterns on the floor. The cauldron hangs from a chimney crane, attached to one of the small columns nearby, over logs.

Virgil sets both books on the small side table, before lighting the logs on fire, warming up the water that already sits inside.

He spends time making sure the room is cleansed by meditating, while the tea brews. Physical energy representing the cleanse is better for Virgil, as his anxiety is something he can look at and know the room is cleansed, but visualising it works just as well.

And he’s on a time constraint.

He lights a green candle on the side table and closes his eyes.

“May this potion bring pain relief to its consumer,” he spoke loudly, vibrant blues and greens dancing behind his eyelids, “heal aches and broken bones.”

The room bursts into colour.

Blues, greens, and teals jump out of the cauldron, dancing along the walls. The liquid turns from a golden brown to a deep blue as Virgil squeezes a lemon into the pot, the yellow drops rippling against the water. The candle melts wax onto the candlestick and the fire flickers, waving slowly. Smoke billows, smelling of lavender.

Three hesitant knocks rap against the front door down the hall. Virgil halts, startled. The candle glints with his lack of movements. A familiar aura is flickering with anxiety behind the door: indigo… with hints of orange. Well… That’s new... He doesn’t even leave his station to check the door before he lets it unlock, closing his eyes again and waving a hand over the water. The door swings open with hesitance.

Virgil’s face is illuminated in a dark teal as he dips the cup into the almost shimmering tea. He sets it on a platter, beside a small plate of apples, "berries", and honey.

The floorboards creak behind him. It stops at the threshold.

“It’s… very blue in here,” a voice says. Virgil’s lips quirk upwards all on their own.

“That’s what happens when you make potions, babe.”

Virgil turns around, crossing his arms and leaning against the table. He tries his best to hide the platter. “I mean…,” he continues, “most spells are colourful. Correspondences, and all.” He’s facing his boyfriend, Logan, who blinks at him behind thin, gold-framed glasses. Mocking the neatly tied-up hair into a small ponytail, a curl falls out and over his forehead. Why Logan ties up his hair at all, when he barely has any, will always be a mystery to Virgil.

Logan runs a palm over his hair, smoothing it down. “Well, I don’t make potions, dear, I wouldn’t know.” His voice is high and fluttery, with a pout on his face. Virgil snorts.

“Yeah, that’s my job. Are you pouty that you don’t know witchcraft?”

The werewolf scoffs, continuing to pout. He turns his head away and laces his hands together in his lap.

Virgil laughs and takes long strides up to him, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his lips against Logan’s. Logan makes a very soft, surprised sound, before kissing back.

Virgil leans away an inch, blowing breath against Logan’s lips. “I made dinner, if you’re hungry,” he whispers.

Logan hums in response, staring at the other man through his eyelashes. His face is covered with various blues, greens, and teals, glasses catching light. His arms snake around Virgil’s middle and Virgil wonders if sweatpants are living up to its name right now, or if the room just got a million degrees hotter since Logan walked in, considering how warm he feels all over.

Virgil clears his throat, before pressing another kiss against Logan’s lips. “...Are you hungry?”

"Yes, actually," Logan smiles softly, "more so than usual.”

Virgil pulls away from his boyfriend to drag him towards the kitchen.

“From the, uh… full moon?”

“From my transformation, yes,” Logan adjusts his glasses, staring over the large pot of beef stew. “I prefer eating beforehand, anyway, so I’m not–” he hesitates, “... hungry in my form.”

Bowls and spoons clank together as Virgil sets them down on the counter. He decides not to comment. Logan fills their bowls as Virgil cuts them both slices of bread and hands them off.

Logan gasps– the way he always does when Virgil bakes anything– and Virgil rolls his eyes. “It is not that amazing.”

“It absolutely is,” Logan frowns, “If I tried to bake, I’d burn the house down. Do not undermine your talents.”

Virgil grins. “I have told you a million times I’d teach you how to bake and you always have an excuse!”

“Well,” Logan starts, pulling out a chair from the small dining table, “If I learned how to bake, there’d be no reason for you.”

Virgil barks out a laugh, taking the seat across from Logan. “Oh, really? I have no other usefulness?”

Logan takes a bite out of the bread, tilting his head in pretend-thought. He taps his forefinger against his chin. “... No, I think it’s just being able to bake.” Virgil kicks his leg from under the table and Logan lets out a small laugh (just hearing his laughter makes Virgil’s stomach flip over itself a million times.)

“This is delicious, V,” Logan says. It’s like he’s… vibrating in his seat, unable to sit still. His leg is bouncing, half shaking the entire table, and Virgil would assume he’s nervous, but Logan’s ears are light pink and he’s grinning widely.

They continue to eat their dinner and Logan gets up for seconds (and then thirds) and Virgil’s very glad he pulled out his largest pot.

Through the window, sunlight fills the room. The sun hovering a bit away from the trees on the horizon.

They finish dinner; Logan washes their bowls as Virgil puts away the leftovers. The entire time Logan is moving, almost like twisting his hips or torso back and forth, but not quite his hips and not quite his torso. Virgil stops and watches him, raising an eyebrow.

Virgil doesn't immediately lead him to the guest room after dinner, and Logan doesn't ask. They sit in the living room, curled up together, talking about everything and nothing. The curtains are closed. It leaves the room vaguely lit up with scattered candles doing most of the work as they flicker and wave back and forth. Logan shoves his head into Virgil's neck and tangles their legs, as if he can't get enough of the witch. Virgil scratches behind his ear absentmindedly and Logan literally melts against him, leaving him mumbling incoherent words and humming in response to everything Virgil says.

Virgil talks as if nothing is happening at all, worried Logan will get embarrassed and freak out, but with his heart beating against his ribcage and his chest pressed against Logan's— Logan has to feel it.

He doesn't know how much time passes before they both begrudgingly stumble off the couch and out of each other's arms.

Virgil's hand is laced with Logan's, leading him down the hall to his guest room; he can't tell if the sweat in his palms is from his own nervousness or Logan's.

Pushing open the door, it reveals a golden room with a large bed tucked in the corner with half opened and unopened boxes in the other.

Virgil kicks a box to the side. "Sorry about the mess," he says, "I kind of only ever used this room for storage."

Logan stands at the foot of the bed, adjusting his glasses. "It's really no issue, V."

"You, uh," Virgil gestures to the bed, stuttering, "you can sit down."

Logan turns to sit at the edge, folding his hands in his lap. Virgil joins him. They sit at each other's side, wordlessly.

"Once it gets closer to the sunset, I'll bring in the pain potion I made you." Virgil reaches over, lightly gripping the werewolf's wrist. "Unless, you need it now?"

Logan shakes his head.

Virgil breathes out through his nose and licks his lips, pulling the bottom one in between his teeth.

He stares at Logan out of the corner of his eye. Logan has an expression Virgil has seen all too well, from when he confessed, expecting to be shunned, to after his parents' visit a few weeks ago: lips pursed, eyebrows crinkled, eyes glossy.

Virgil moves his hand to Logan's lower back and Logan's head snaps over to him. Their eyes meet.

“You…” Virgil speaks softly, “You don’t have to spend the night here with me, if you’re uncomfortable… I know, uh... You’ve been hesitant about sharing your wolf…ness with me.” He glances away, fingers rubbing the texture of his pants. Logan’s eyes soften and his Adam’s apple bobs in his neck as he swallows.

“I want to be here with you, Virgil,” Logan says. He takes Virgil’s hand in his own. “I’m just…,” he sighs, “nervous.”

“You? Nervous?” Virgil laughs awkwardly. Logan rolls his eyes. Their shoulders brush against each other.

“I’m…,” Logan stutters through his words. He opens his mouth and closes it a couple times, looking like a gasping fish out of water, before letting his mouth shut completely. The sound of his teeth clacking together is so loud in the quietness of the room.

He doesn't attempt to speak anymore.

“You can’t remember things after transforming, right?” Virgil asks.

Logan shrugs and then gives a small nod. "It's very foggy... almost like... a very old memory from childhood." He knocks his knee with Virgil's. "I'll have the vaguest idea of what I might have done, but I can't... reach beyond that.

"I'll have the memory of running, but I won't have the context for why I'm running or where I'm running or who I'm with, if I somehow managed to be with anyone. I just—," Logan speaks through the rest of his words like he's choking on them, hissing them past his lips, "I just never know." His jaw is clenched tight, teeth grinding together. He's staring past Virgil, over his shoulder at the window.

Virgil moves his hand up Logan's back and cups Logan’s cheek in his palm, using his other hand to tilt Logan's head towards his own. He's holding Logan's cheeks in his hands. Their noses brush against each other. His thumb rubs underneath Logan’s eyes.

“It’s alright,” Virgil whispers.

He doesn’t say more than that.

He doesn’t think there’s much more he can say.

Logan swallows hard.

"I... hate not knowing," Logan whispers. His voice cracks when he talks and he cringes, refusing to make eye contact with his boyfriend. "And I hate not being in control."

Virgil purses his lips.

Logan continues. "I'm so scared, Virgil." He blinks his eyes rapidly. "What if I... do something?"

“Like what?”

“What if I hurt you?”

Virgil frowns. “L, you’re not going to hurt me.”

“You don’t know that. What if,” Logan breathes in quick, “what if I can’t control myself, or–”

“Logan, you would never hurt me.” Virgil cuts him off, holding his face a little tighter. Logan’s pupils dilate. His tears catch light and glisten.

He doesn't ask if Logan has ever hurt someone before in his form, because he knows it doesn't matter.

“I trust you.”

Logan's eyes slowly, hesitantly, meet with Virgil's. His bottom lip quivers and Virgil leans forward to kiss it. Logan pulls away only to shove his head into Virgil's neck, shoulders shaking. Wrapping his arms tightly around the other, Virgil kisses his temple.

He rocks back and forth with Logan, and he feels a hot, boiling anger fill his stomach.

He wants to hurt whoever hurt Logan, but there's no one here to blame— unless he's trying to figure out how to travel back in time and fight the witch that cursed people to be werewolves, but then Logan wouldn't be the man he is today.

He shoves his head into Logan's hair and waits for Logan to pull away. Logan wipes his face.

"Also," Virgil tugs on Logan's clothes, pushing past his anger and the original conversation, "I don't think this tie is very comfortable. Let's get you into some other clothes, baby." Virgil kisses his cheek, standing up and turning on his heel to the door, before Logan calls out.

"Thank you."

The stairs creak underneath Virgil's feet, hand gliding down the railing. He carries the clothes he had already set out for the other— an oversized, tattered shirt, that won't be so oversized on him as it is on Virgil, and a pair of shorts— making his way back to the guest room. Crows chitter faintly outside and—

A shot fires.

A loud, piercing sound that makes Virgil stop in his tracks. His heart rattles in his chest, thumping loudly, almost comparable to the gunshot. He breathes in quick and stares at the back door's tiny window. Like a deer in headlights.

Gold light shimmers through the window, casting a ray of light. Dust floats within it and occasionally the light flickers as birds fly or the leaves shift over the sun.

It's nowhere near Virgil or his house (or Logan), but close enough.

He rushes to the guest room.

"Logan?" Virgil asks, pushing the door before he turns the knob enough to open it. He swallows hard, attempting once more to get into the room.

Logan sits, staring at the window's curtain, blinking once, but his eyes dance around.

"A... firework, perhaps." He's lying.

“I don’t think anyone’s shooting off fireworks in the middle of a forest at this time,” Virgil frowns. He walks up to the window, peering behind the curtain.

The sun slowly sets behind the trees.

Virgil turns around to face Logan again and lets out a quiet breath. Not quite a sigh.

Logan laces his fingers together. "It's quite alright, dear."

"It's Alright?" Virgil asks. Logan’s eyes skitter away from him. Virgil licks his lips.

"It sounded far away—" Logan tries.

"And that's too close," Virgil says.

"It doesn't have to be a hunter. You said that people in the town nearby often hunt for food here."

"Oh, yeah, people are just out hunting on a full moon. Just a coincidence!"

Logan's lips form a tight, thin line. Virgil's eyebrows knit together. Arguing is doing them no good.

Virgil drops the clothes off by Logan, folded neatly. "I'm sorry," he says, running a hand through his hair.

"You're alright," Logan mutters. He doesn't look at him, but he leans forward to press his forehead against Virgil's stomach.

Virgil's hands wrap around Logan's head. They tangle in his hair, with an iron tight grip, and pull Logan close to him.

He's going to be double, no, triple-checking his wards around the house before the sun sets and making sure he triple-checks the ward outside of the guest room.

He moves one of his hands to touch the necklace on his chest, wondering how much protection he can give Logan before it's excessive.

One thing's for certain:

No one's getting into this fucking house or this room.

“You should change out of your clothes, L.”

When Logan starts undressing– loosening his tie, unbuttoning his vest and shirt– Virgil tilts his head, eyes never straying from the man.

“You’re not going to turn around and give me some privacy?” Logan asks, folding his clothes and setting them on the bed. He glances over his shoulder, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile.

Virgil smirks. “I did tell you I wasn’t going to take my eyes off of you before you came over, right?” Logan has freckles covering the back of his shoulders and a small mole on his lower back near his spine. Virgil has to restrain himself from reaching out and running his hands along his back before it disappears, covered by the shirt.

Stepping into shorts as he turns around, Logan rolls his eyes. He murmurs, ears tinted red, "I have a suspicion you didn't want me to wear your clothes simply for my comfort."

Virgil chuckles, wrapping his arms around Logan's waist and shoving his hands underneath the shirt he made Logan put on— Virgil's shirt. Logan squirms in his grasp, whining about how cold his hands were.

He kisses his partner's neck, trailing up to behind his ear and whispering, "Not my fault you look good in my clothes." Logan twirls around in his arms and Virgil steps back to look him up and down. Logan lifts up his chest, face bright red: a mixture of fluster and enjoying praise.

Virgil pulls away from Logan. “Let me go get that potion I made, I’ll be right bac–” He’s interrupted with a whine.

Virgil spins around, eyebrows raised to his hairline. Logan stares at him, eyebrows also raised, shocked at his own outburst.

“Did you just whine because I was going to leave–”

“Absolutely not,” Logan says, too fast for it to be true, “obviously. That’d be preposterous. Absurd, even.” Logan turns around and tidies up his already impeccably neat clothes. Virgil stands there with his mouth ajar, a small smile slowly widening.

“Well, go on now,” Logan says over his shoulder, “fetch that potion.” He clears his throat.

Virgil starts laughing, placing a palm over his mouth to muffle it (not that it does much). “Don’t tell me to fetch!” he says, walking towards the door, “you’re the dog here.”

Logan sputters behind him. “Wh– I am not a DOG, Virgil, I am a WOLF. They’re very different, I’ll have you know–”

He’s cut off by the door shutting with a click.

When Virgil comes back, Logan’s staring up at him with those big, beautiful, brown eyes of his, and pouting with his arms crossed.

Virgil doesn't think he could ever get sick of looking into them.

“Say sorry,” Logan says. Virgil laughs, carrying the cup of tea and plate of fruit. “Don’t laugh! I’m not a dog!”

“Wolves are just undomesticated dogs, Lo! I’m not wrong,” Virgil says, shoulders shaking with his laughter.

Logan doesn’t respond, continuing to pout. Virgil coos instantly, before he can stop himself, and Logan lets out another little whine.

“I’m sorry I called you a dog,” Virgil apologises. Logan lifts up his nose.

“Thank you.”

“A better comparison would’ve been a puppy.”

“Hey!”

Virgil bites his lip, failing to cover up his smile. He holds out the cup.

Logan eyes it, pursing his lips. He tilts his head back a small bit, glancing from the cup to Virgil and back to the cup and then back to Virgil and back to the cup and back to–

“Are you gonna take it?” Virgil shakes it, watching the tea slosh against the walls.

Logan very slowly accepts the cup. He holds it in his hands, warmth spreading through his palms. Lavender and chamomile waft from the cup. He tilts his head (like a confused puppy, Virgil notes).

“… This is just a cup of tea, Virgil,” Logan said, slowly, as if to sound out each syllable.

Virgil nodded. “It sure is.”

Logan blinks, sniffing the cup.

“You know…” Logan starts, “if this is all a healing potion is, I could’ve just done this myself. I have tea at home.”

Virgil rolls his eyes, the corners of his lips quirking up into a soft smile. “Uh-huh, I’m sure babe. I also cut you some apples and drizzled honey on them.”

He holds out the small plate of apples positioned into a circle with the “berries” in the middle.

“Are those juniper berries?” Logan asks. Virgil nods. Logan stares at them as if they’re whispering evil plans to each other.

“You just want me to drink tea and then eat apples?”

“Oh, my god. Babe, just–”

“Can I call myself a witch too because I can brew tea?”

“Just drink it, will you?” Virgil says, exasperated. Logan snickers, taking a sip of the tea. Virgil sits beside Logan on the bed, running one of his hands along the brown blanket.

“It’s all about intent,” he says, “besides… I did more than just brew you a cup of tea, obviously.”

“Oh, yes, you’re right,” Logan nodded seriously. He plucks an apple slice from the plate. “You also cut me apples.”

Virgil hits him softly on the shoulder.

They sit in silence while Logan finishes his potion. Virgil eyes the window, trying to gauge how close the sun is to setting now.

When he brings his attention back to Logan, he’s staring at the empty cup.

“Did…” Logan starts and then stops.

Virgil hums, resting a hand on Logan’s thigh.

“When I showed up… You were working in your craft room,” Logan says.

“Yeah…?”

Logan looks up from the cup to stare into Virgil’s eyes. “Did… you… brew… tea in your cauldron?”

Virgil opens his mouth and then looks away. “Well–”

Logan’s smiling. “You used that massive thing of yours to brew me a single cup of tea?”

“Okay, well–”

“You could’ve used the kettle! Did you just want an excuse to use your cauldron?”

Virgil feels his face heat up. “Be quiet!”

Logan laughs and Virgil joins him, resting his head on the man's shoulder. They sit silently as Logan munches on the apples and berries (he keeps trying to feed them to Virgil and pouting when Virgil refuses.

“I made it for you, babe.”

“You need to be protected, too, love. Please eat the fruit.”

“That’s not how that works!”)

— —

The guest room door swings open slowly. Hearing its hinges creak and groan, Virgil cringes, gritting his teeth. From inside the room, trapped underneath heavy blankets, he hears Logan let out a little whimper at the noise.

“Sorry, love,” Virgil whispers, pushing the door open with his shoulder and tip-toeing into the room. He makes sure the wet rag and cup of water in his hands don’t knock into the wall.

The room’s overhead light is turned off, leaving a couple candles flickering on the nightstand (Virgil has to remember to blow those out before the moon rises.) Pink, reddish light barely makes its way past the thick curtains.

Virgil sets the cup down on the nightstand, sitting down at the edge of the bed. Logan’s hair is ruffled and he can see the faintest outline of his eyes poking out from underneath the blanket–

He swears they’re almost… glowing.

He tugs the blanket down, revealing his partner’s face. Sweat rolls down the man’s forehead, eyebrows and corners of his eyes crinkling. His breathing comes out heavy and uneven. Virgil runs a hand through his damp hair.

“Is the potion helping, uh… at all?”

Logan nods slowly, squeezing his eyes tightly together. He shuffles over to rest his head in Virgil’s lap, gripping Virgil’s shirt tightly in between his fingers, grasping as if he’s falling off a cliff. He lets out a little noise in the back of his throat

Virgil’s face feels hot.

He presses the rag to Logan’s forehead, rubbing a palm in between Logan’s, very sweaty, shoulder blades.

The wind whistles, almost soundless, through the leaves outside. Virgil can’t help but keep staring at the window through his bangs.

“Is it almost time?” Virgil asks, petting his hair.

Logan nods, again, shoving his face into Virgil’s stomach. Virgil’s fingers clutch the rag, the smallest amount of water running down his fingers and onto his pants.

Logan’s voice is raspy as he talks. “I will make sure to undress… Before transforming. I don’t want to rip your clothes apart.”

Virgil snorts. “It’s okay, love, you don’t need to worry about it.”

Logan sounds like he’s on the verge of tears when he speaks up again. “But I don’t wanna ruin your clothes… I like this shirt…” Virgil squeezes his shoulder, smiling.

“I want you to be comfortable. I won’t be upset if you don’t take them off.”

Logan lets out another whine. He’s been doing that a lot, the closer to the sun setting it gets.

The flames catch light on Logan’s glasses, sitting on the nightstand.

“You should leave now,” Logan says.

Virgil sucks in a breath through his mouth. “Okay,” he says in a soft tone. “I’ll make sure the door is closed.”

“And locked.”

Virgil licks his lips. “And locked. I promise.”

Logan still clings to Virgil even as he tries to get up and leave.

“I love you,” Virgil says.

Logan doesn’t respond.

Before he steps out of the room, he blows out the candles, watching the room become almost pitch black.

Virgil runs a hand down the front of the locked door, staring at the sigil he stuck to the front. He puts a hand over it, closing his eyes.

Warmth erupts from it as red and purple dance behind his eyelids. His hand feels hot. Heat radiates from the room, and then it dissipates in a burst.

Then it’s dark once more.

Virgil blinks his eyes open.

The now burnt sigil turns to ash, crinkling onto the floor. He rubs soot in between his fingers. That’s going to be a bitch to get off, Virgil thinks to himself.

Virgil forces himself to walk away from the guest room.

From Logan.

Down the hall and into the living room.

— —

A bed squeaks along with cracking bones. A loud crash, followed by a thud and a bang. Fabric rips, metal clangs, and glass shatters.

The wind screams with a howl.

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